


Falling (In Love With You)

by niikaaa



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-25 23:38:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niikaaa/pseuds/niikaaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Scott and Stiles get caught in a freak storm, raindrops might not be the only thing falling. One-shot. Unapologetically sweet cotton candy fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling (In Love With You)

“Oh no.”  
  
Stiles stared disbelievingly at the gruesome scene before him: three slashed tires and an angry hot-pink-lipstick message scrawled across the windshield informing “Jeff, you ASSHOLE” that the writer knew about his “lying, cheating, and general DICKISHNESS” and that she was “DONE WITH IT AND YOU!”  
  
Scott bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. He shouldn’t be laughing about this. It was immature, irresponsible, illegal, and the entire situation was made worse by the fact that whoever had done it had vandalized completely the wrong car, but something about Stiles’s bewildered expression as he turned to Scott was kind of ruining Scott’s ability to react appropriately.  
  
“Who’s Jeff?” Stiles asked, gesturing vaguely at the windshield. “Who the hell is Jeff and why is my Jeep paying for his crimes?”  
  
Scott shrugged, his lacrosse bag almost falling off his shoulder. “I don’t know, but we’re about to have an even bigger problem.” He pointed upwards at the dark clouds rapidly scudding across the sky.  
  
“Oh _no_ ,” Stiles repeated as a low rumble of thunder underlined Scott’s indication. He looked around the parking lot, but they seemed to be the last ones there.  
  
“At least the rain will wash the lipstick off your windshield?” Scott offered, unable to keep from grinning. Stiles rolled his eyes.  
  
“Can you call someone? Is your mom home? Allison?”  
  
Scott shook his head.  
  
“Mom’s at work and Allison was going shopping with Lydia, I think. What about your dad?”  
  
“At a two-day training seminar three hours from here,” Stiles replied. “Awesome.”  
  
“Looks like we’re walking, then.”  
  
Stiles shot one more glare at the damage before turning back to Scott.  
  
“Let’s go, then,” he sighed. “Maybe we can make it home before it really starts raining.”

They were halfway to Scott’s when the storm hit, the rain falling heavy and fast. Scott pushed his dripping hair back off his forehead in an attempt to keep the water out of his eyes and wondered why he hadn’t thought to put his hood up before the rain started.  
  
Stiles was still silently fuming about what had happened to his Jeep, and Scott felt a little guilty for almost laughing about it. Piece of crap or not, Stiles loved that thing.  
  
“Hey, I’m sorry about earlier,” Scott offered. Stiles shrugged.  
  
“It’s fine. I might have done the same thing, if, you know, it was happening to literally anyone except me.” He shook his head, and a single drop of water ran down between his eyes and hung off the end of his nose for just a second before succumbing to gravity and falling.  
  
“Maybe your dad’s seminar will include a section on how to track down teenage vigilantes,” Scott teased. Stiles smirked.  
  
“The part I don’t get is how she didn’t realize it wasn’t Jeff’s car, whoever Jeff is,” he added. “Like, there’s only one piece of crap Jeep in that parking lot and pretty much everybody knows it’s mine. Either somebody got really confused, or they have the _weirdest_ vendetta of _all time_ against me.”  
  
Scott laughed, but the rain was making it hard to carry on the conversation, so they both put their heads down and kept moving.  
  
Finally, Scott’s house was within sight and they were running for the door. Scott idly recalled reading somewhere once that running through rain actually got you more wet than walking, but considering they were both already soaked to the skin he didn’t think it really mattered.  
  
As they reached the relative safety of the porch, Scott reached into his pocket for the key to the front door, but then froze, a shocked expression on his face.  
  
“Dude, what–” Stiles started, but before he could finish Scott produced the key, grinning wickedly.  
  
“You’re the worst,” Stiles muttered, but he couldn’t keep himself from smiling and shaking his head.  
  
Scott finally got the door open and they practically fell through it together, water dripping from their skin and their clothes and spreading in dozens of little puddles across the floor.  
  
“Well, that was really fun,” Stiles said sarcastically as he struggled out of his absolutely drenched hoodie.  
  
Scott turned around, ready with a witty response, but something about the way Stiles’s t-shirt was completely plastered to his body made him forget everything he’d been about to say.  
  
The rain-darkened fabric clung to muscle definition Scott hadn’t even realized Stiles had, since his usual wardrobe of “always at least two layers at all times” had done a pretty good job of concealing it. It was a surprise, but not an entirely unpleasant one.  
  
Stiles looked up unexpectedly and Scott dropped his gaze, feeling the slightest twinge of guilt.  
  
“Sorry,” he muttered.  
  
“Sorry for what?”  
  
“It’s nothing. Never mind,” Scott said, eyes fixed on the toe of one sneaker.  
  
“Oh-kay then,” Stiles said, pulling his wet t-shirt away from his body and staring idly at the water dripping onto the carpet. “Should we maybe do something about this? Before your mom comes home and kills us both?”  
  
“Uh…yeah. Definitely,” Scott replied, turning to head up the stairs.  
  
“You gonna take your shoes off first?” Stiles asked. Scott turned around slowly. Stiles was looking at him, one eyebrow raised, with raindrops still beaded on his face and in his hair and something in his expression that said he was pretty close to figuring out what was going on and then suddenly his eyes went wide and he blinked once and Scott knew that he knew.  
  
“Oh,” he said, and there wasn’t any indication of what that single syllable actually meant.  
  
“Stiles, I’m sorry, I just…” Scott abruptly realized he didn’t have an ending to that sentence, but Stiles just shrugged.  
  
“It’s cool,” he said. “You should still probably take off your shoes, though.”  
  
They both laughed, somewhat nervously, and then Scott did just that before they both headed up to his room.  
  
Digging through his dresser, Scott pulled out a couple of t-shirts and tossed one to Stiles, who caught it easily.  
  
“This is great and all, but, uh…” Stiles indicated his jeans, which were also soaked through.  
  
“Oh,” Scott said simply, desperately trying to come up with a solution. He might have been able to share jeans with Stiles a few years ago, but he was pretty sure they were different sizes now.  
  
Stiles turned around to take off the wet shirt, and Scott felt that awful distraction creeping in again.  
  
 _No_ , he told himself firmly, turning around and squeezing his hands into fists until he could feel his fingernails biting into the palms of his hand. _Don’t think about his stupid shoulder blades or the stupid muscles in his stupid back or any of the stupid muscle groups anywhere on his body for that matter because Stiles is your Best Friend in the entire world and you’re not allowed to mess this up just because you’ve suddenly realized how good he looks in a wet t-shirt and_ –  
  
Scott jumped as he felt Stiles tap his shoulder once, hesitantly. He turned around slowly and hoped what he’d been thinking wasn’t immediately obvious.  
  
What he hadn’t expected to see was the look in Stiles’s eyes: nervous and a little bit vulnerable and seeming to mirror everything Scott was feeling right then.  
  
“Scott?” Stiles asked, so quietly that his voice broke halfway through. “Would you maybe want to…?” He stopped and looked down, biting his lower lip, then glanced back up almost hopefully.  
  
It wasn’t their first kiss. There had been others, years ago, explained away as “practice” and rarely (if ever) spoken of afterwards. But this kiss, as nervous and quick and awkward as any other first kiss, was a milestone all the same. Scott was kissing Stiles, and Stiles was kissing Scott, and for the first time neither of them was pretending that the other was someone else, and the more comfortable they got the bolder the kisses got until Scott finally pulled back.  
  
“I have an idea,” he said. “What if we put this on hold for a little bit so we can put the wet clothes in the dryer and then you can borrow a pair of pyjama pants because I’m pretty sure that’s the only thing I have that’ll fit you and then I’ll make popcorn and finally cave and watch Star Wars with you?”  
  
“Are you trying to make me fall in love with you?” Stiles asked, grinning and raising one eyebrow. Scott smiled back and kissed his forehead.  
  
“I think it might be too late for that.”


End file.
